Miraculous
by Shiroi Iyasu
Summary: She doesn't believe she can do it. Every visitor - every failure - proved her thoughts so. And while she waits for the next unfortunate person, she thinks of the impossible kinds of souls. -drabble-ish series-
1. Sunlight

Hellooooooooooo Ib fandom!

God, I don't know how happy I was when I discovered an Ib section was here when I thought there was no such thing. Ahhh I hope the stupid site-fic purge won't ruin anything here. That would make me real angry.

But anyway, moving on!

* * *

_Love_

She scribbles the word down - almost absent-mindedly - with a bright yellow crayon, humming a mindless tune once sung to her as an infant would repeat. If they did at all. But she does not bother herself with such plain thoughts.

_Love is beautiful, and it is free._

_I would love to be given love._

She pauses to giggle, amused, as she looks over that particular second sentence. Yes. She would love to be loved.

_Love is beautiful, and it is free._

_I would love to be given love._

_Love like the light of sun, love like the kisses of the sea, love like the bitter warmth of the snow. I would love to be given love, just like the sweetness of reality_

Her crayon snaps abruptly. The blonde feels her eyes widen at the sight of the sunny, broken piece roll awkwardly on the paper - but the shock wears off as soon as it comes, and she merely switches to another of her favorite colors.

Blue eyes trail after the blue pencil - not a crayon because she's sick of them now and everything is made of her childish crayon scribbles anyway so no more of that - as she scratches the rough figure of a rose, right after the unfinished sentence that contained a hint of her soundless ramblings. When she's done, she holds up the paper as her forgotten pencil is dropped to be lost under her other drawings and books.

Mary smiles, and decides. The next person would have a mysterious, blue rose – if someone like that can even exist, of course.

* * *

-Personally, maybe, I might make this a chaptered thing. Remember, key word - _maaaaaaaybe_. God really knows.

Review if you like. Flames are not appreciated.

~Shiroi


	2. Eternity

And hello again, Ib fandom!

Looks like that short-lived thought of this being chaptered has decided to come true. Weird how I'm actually picking up my writing again - I feel like I've been inactive for years. And then Ib nicely strolls by and I'm actually looking into RPs of them! Now that, I haven't done at all. For any fandom.

But anyway, enjoy!

* * *

_It's not at all that scary._

She smiles as she holds onto the girl's hand, bright as the sun she hopes of.

_It's just that you're scared of me._

"This is such a weird place," she declares from out of nowhere, glancing around like it's queer and impossible to think of rationally. By her side, she faintly hears Ib nod quietly, mumbling something that Mary can't catch at once or very clearly either. She smiles a lot more brightly at that knowing sense of agreement, regardless.

"It's so boring! Nothing really great happens! But that's okay with me, I guess." Without really thinking, she leaves the brunette's side to twirl around the carpeted hallway, making a few strained-sounding giggles as she half-heartedly takes care to watch her step - her laughter echoes emptily, and she can already feel the chilling shudder going up her spine. She doesn't enjoy how sound can easily make a person feel so alone in the world.

The blonde stops her idle spinning, and looks back at Ib. The child blinks at her curiously, the scarlet shade so innocent and yet so intimidating, in her opinion anyway.

_And when you're scared of me, that must mean you'll be scared of everyone here._

"What are you thinking about, Ib?" the question flows out before she can even stop herself. Inwardly, she cringes at her blunder, and anxiously observes. The nine year old only tilts her head, arms folding in thought as her eyes flutter around musingly. Mary feels a twitch of alarm when the child ends up frowning, even if lightly.

"This place..." Ib purses her lips together, as if trying to find the right words. "It's... Yeah, it's boring. But, still, it's kind of empty... It's also very lonely - I don't really like that feeling."

_And when I'm scared, I wonder if you think I will hurt you._

Every hint of happiness seems to vanish. She stares at her, wondering just what to say - she doesn't like that feeling either. Since the day she became sentient, she never enjoyed herself. Sure, there are the lady paintings and her beloved blue dolls to talk to, but with the same people around, it gets tiring. Not much happened here either, and conversing about nothing made for a horrible way to spend the time. If time exists here.

_You must be thinking like that - this is my world, you know._

"I know." Mary puts on another smile, and turns around. A false, cheery bounce is added to her every step as the pair continue on. "It's a very sad place."

* * *

The next drabble might be the last one. God knows at this point.

Reviews are loved, and flames are burned. Bad pun yeah but I can't think of anything else at the moment.

~Shiroi


	3. Promises

What am I doing.

I really don't know what I'm doing now. It looks like I'm going off the topic that the first drabble was based on, which was pretty much Mary being a sad little girl. I'm throwing whatever I like up here, and that's not necessarily a good thing (even if I'm writing more than I used to be, and even if it's just horrible-quality drabbles too).

* * *

In an instant, whenever she wishes but more like whenever she is angered, she remembers.

Blue as mystery can portray, powerful as God. She describes her creator, her sort-of father, as that kind of person with that kind of heart. A pale human with a strange ideology and an even stranger behavior, but innocent all the same. And that innocence tried to reach out to the world, but it was blocked by the masks of society - and so, Guertena spread it out elsewhere. To a world that only loved him and nothing more...

Scowling, Mary makes circles under her feet.

_An artist who loved his works eternally-_

The blonde looks out the mural of Fabricated World. The frame does not vanish as she watches the movement of the real world, slightly jealous and yet always fascinated as scribbled faces and fragmented actions occur on the canvas. It doesn't help her dreams too much - what do humans really look like, she wonders. She knows they all look different. Brown hair, black hair, blue eyes, green eyes, red hair, and the list can go on forever.

She reaches a hand up against the painting - it's like touching glass as the figures continue to move under her fingertips, and her blue eyes slowly scan the other world. It's a habit, she must guiltily admit. When there's nothing to do, she walks through the pitch-black mirror of any art gallery that Fabricated World is currently displayed in, and lets go of her thoughts and frustrations for sharply observing and maybe a hint of annoyance.

Otherwise, she'll start thinking of things she never wants to. And that, she hates as much as rejection - if not more.

Mary blinks - she removes her hand as a crayon-painting drawing awkwardly walks past. A face, a messily-drawn jacket, and a scribbled mop of absurdly colored hair with a few black lines that seemed to mimic seaweed just a bit. She's surprised. Humans don't have such hair, as far as she understood their world. But she knows they could dye it to such shades. She remembers Guertena doing so once, turning his brown locks into a vivid lilac hue.

Just like the scribbled man who promptly vanishes the moment she blinks again.

And the scowl returns.

* * *

Well. Maybe the next one will be the last? Argh, I don't knooooooow.

Reviews are loved and flames are not.

~Shiroi


	4. Disappointment

And finally, the stupid last chapter that I never bothered to put up, less than writing it anyway!

Enjoy.

* * *

Mary played make-believe. _Smile, laugh - hate the man who looks remotely like the one who abandoned them._

Just as all the ladies speak, one cannot be truly indifferent for what they feel in their hearts, false or real or none. The blonde loved her creator as a child to their father - and even when he suddenly passed away with the scent of spring dew in the air and tiny may flowers springing up in the pathetic front garden that Guertena was always so neglectant of, she did not hate the fact that he had never told her good bye, even though she behaved so.

The girl liked to end things with a proper sense of finality - if she did something, she would finish it to the very end.

And thus, she decided, she would head to the other world. Find the man's grave, and finish the job for him. Unless he came forth to answer her, but that was not possible - or so she thought.

Garry was, in all honestly, the most weak-minded man that she had ever seen. He was physically strong, and his polite personality was hard to hate at all, but nonetheless, it made her eye twitch a little when she noted how he could get frightened at the most simplistic of things in the gallery - though she did have to agree, the dolls' cracked red irises were creepy when they stared for more time than what was necessary.

-but none of that was as important a fact as his age. He was in his twenties, she identified. So many years - the thought made her annoyed. Her dearest father had so much time to come to her, to say good bye, and to maybe end this malicious paradise before anyone else got hurt by her little wish. And yet, the purple-haired man never came before this particular visit, and neither was he giving any signs that he even knew her.

_Why don't you remember us? Why don't you remember me!_

Mary silently called forth the jealous flower - trapped on the other side of the thorns, for a little while, she delayed from moving on with the brunette girl. Just to see if the older man could break those stone thorns with an instance of thought. This was his world, after all.

He didn't do anything, but wait patiently. He was human - and he was not Guertena.

Maybe that was the final straw for her. Maybe she did hate the artist after all, and that facade of hers was some unknowing truth that escaped her childish mentality. She knew for sure that a feeling had stirred up in her, and she never knew why.

_Remember...!_

But now, it did not matter. After the wave of shock had passed, Mary smiled pitifully and closed her eyes, momentarily dreaming of something her father had spoken of in plain murmurs and through far-away looks as he watched the dawn shine through his bedroom window - how miracles are magic, and how magic may create miracles. It seemed like a monotonous speech back then, so quietly, Mary had fallen asleep. Just like now.

All of her thoughts vanished forever.

* * *

I am one horrible writer if I took this long to just finish one chaptered little ficlet thing.

In any case, this is the end of this Mary drabble-ish series. God knows if anyone really enjoyed this. If you did, thank you very much! If you didn't... well, I don't really mind it, I guess...

Review if you'd like to. Flames will be used to burn paintings.

~Shiroi


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